The Macau Story - Pt 5

If you’ve been following my travel stories with LB, then you will know that there is a kind of curse that plagues our every flight. And from the time we got to the airport for our departure for Macau, we started listing out the possible screw ups.

There were the times that we almost missed our flight and then there was that infamous Phuket debacle that we actually missed our flight. I somehow wonder if this is a divine joke that starts with, “let’s keep fucking up these two’s flights and see how long they’ll keep travelling together.”

The original plan was to book the 3pm flight back to Singapore, but when LB left it to me and I saw a later slot available, I thought it was a better idea to book that flight instead because that would allow us an additional full day at Macau.

Of course, I thought we could take a ferry down to Hong Kong on the last day but that fell through because I had no idea where the ferry terminal was and neither did I know any illegal immigrants who could hook us up with a sampan.

And somehow, I always assumed our flight was at 7pm, which left us an additional four hours more than the rest which were all on the 3pm flight. So when we got back to Macau on the last day, we figured that 4 hours was too short a time for us to venture out of the Venetian to wander a city which other than overpriced hookers and casinos, didn’t seem to offer much else.

LB had also lost our booking confirmation slip so we had no idea what was our actual boarding time and we had to get one of the guys to check for us when they checked in.

Guy: “Your flight is at 10.30pm.”
LB: “10.30pm?!”

LB turned to stare at me. I immediately wave him off.

Me: “Check if there is a 7.30 flight.”
LB: “Can you check if there is a 7.30pm flight?”

He continued to eye my incumbency on this matter in suspicion.

LB: “No 7.30pm flight?! Earliest is 10.30pm?!”

Did I actually fuck this up? Could I have possibly fucked up a simple booking? I’ve done tons of moronic acts, but surely not booking the wrong return date. Could I? Did I?”

We both hit the panic button, more so this time because we were nearly drained of cash and I had no desire to spend another night trying to topple the casino. We simultaneously whipped out our phones, trying to retrieve the confirmation slip from the emails we corresponded.

The great news was that I did book it on the correct day, just that I got the timing confused. The down side was that we had another 7 hours left to burn in Macau and there was NOTHING else we could do. I was going to be disciplined about gambling so I didn’t want to stay in the Venetian, lest it eroded my will and pledge.

So I left LB by the Blackjack table and took a solo tour of the Venetian, which was beautiful, I must admit, given even my disdain for sightseeing. I mean this place actually rocked because there was a canal, gondolas and weird people doing freaky mimes for petty cash.

When I got back to the casino for LB, he was still rooted to the same place I left him over an hour ago.

Me: “Are you going to gamble or what?”
LB: “Dude, I just lost all my money.”
Me: “What?!”

He was staring at me with eyes that burned of desire to recoup. Now that I think back, those are the very same eyes you see in homeless people. His tone still echoed in defiance to desolation. I knew he could not be coaxed or persuaded to abandon the tables, so I did what every true friend would do.

I urged him to recoup his losses.

He immediately made a beeline for the cashier and then a brisk walk to the nearest available table. It started well. He was cautious and controlled, and luck was upon him. Then 15mins later, he had lost everything.

LB: “What the fuck! I was up $1000! Where’s my money?!”

I knew there and there, I had to step up to the plate. There in front of me, almost half hysterical was my best friend and he was in dire need of my help. I had to do the right thing.

Me: “I got $1000 here. You want?”
LB: “Fuck! Let’s do it!”

10 minutes later. He lost everything.

Me: “You want to go walk around? There is a canal in here.”
LB: “Fuck your canal! Where is my money?!”

Me: “Look, let’s go play the slots. It’s 1 cent a game and I have $20 here. That means we can hit the button 2000 times, do you know how much time that will kill?”
LB: “Why the fuck did you have to book a 10.30pm flight?!”

When we finally left the place for the airport – a lot more broke and still very much sober-, we assumed that nothing was going topple the episode at the casino. Yet now I learn that when you are me, you should never assume, because when it rains, it's capable of pouring so much shit that it would seem like it's raining NeWater.

When we checked in, it was a familiar scene as it was in Phuket. We were in line, bantering, largely over the dumb idea of booking a late flight in a city where it takes more than it gives, and then greeted by the attendant with bad news.

She: “Sir, just to inform you that your flight has been delayed.”
Me: “How long?”
She: “3 to 4 hours maybe.”

Like what the fuck?! What were we going to do for the next three hours? Well, maybe we could just go to the boarding area and do some shopping or chill out at a café; we thought. Three words,

Worse.Idea.Ever

The moment I got through the gate, I thought we were at a super budget terminal, because there was absolutely NOTHING there. The place was so fucking boring, it would make Antarctica look like New York City. All they need is a razor by the counter for us to slit our wrist, because I think bleeding beats dying of boredom.

Then I realized what the delay was; the plane hadn’t even left Singapore yet! Let me pronounce to you the gravity of the matter. One, we were freezing our asses off because we checked in our jackets. Two, I was fucking starving and the only café there was not selling food. Three, we were going to be stuck for at least 4 more hours because our plane still has its ass on Singapore tarmac. And lastly, where are the hookers when you need them?

We finally arrived in Singapore at 7am. We were drained, I barely slept well on the plane and LB looked like he was struggling to keep his eyelids opened.

LB: “Where got people come back at 7am!”
Me: “At least we DIDN’T miss the flight!”